Dethroots
by masterctarl
Summary: Chapter 2 is up! The band's faced many things that have threatened, harmed, and even scared them.  But now they're about to face the most frightening thing of all: Ofdensen's past.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own Metalocalypse, Dethklok, any members or people associated with them. They belong to Brendan Small and Tommy Blacha. I do, however, own Gloria Ofdensen. Please don't steal her.**

**Chapter 1**

()Approximately 14 years ago()

"Are you sure you have everything?"

"Yes, mother."

"You have all of your clothes? A warm blanket? You know, the blankets on those dorm beds are never warm enough."

"I know, I'm well prepared."

"Are you sure you don't want one more cup of coffee before you go? I mean, New York is a long ways from-"

"Mother."

Gloria Ofdensen closed her mouth, looking desperately at her son's face. He was giving her a stern yet gentle look.

"I'll be fine. I've been preparing for this day since before I graduated. I'm ready."

Gloria looked at the ground. "I know, Charlie. I just... I can't believe you're leaving. Aren't you at least going to wait for your father?"

"You know him," Charles sighed, though it was an understanding one. "If I waited to leave until then, he'd berate me for putting off my life another few hours. Trust me, I know what I'm doing."

"I know. I know, you're just like your father. You'll take the world by storm."

Charles looked at his mother one last time. He then looked around, as if afraid what the neighbors would say if they say, and gave her a quick hug before turning and heading for the taxi that awaited him. "Goodbye!" he waved from the door before stepping in.

"Goodbye, Charlie! I love you! Be careful!" she called after him as the yellow cab took her son away. She somehow knew he would be okay, but couldn't help but worry. After all, that was what mothers were for.

()Present day()

Charles Foster Ofdensen always came to his meetings well-prepared. Especially when those meetings were with the band. He had to multi-task in ways that he was sure most managers could never imagine. He had to keep everything in terms the boys could understand. Try not to lose their focus, as their attention spans seemed to rival that of gnats. And above all, he had to keep them from doing anything stupid. The last part was especially important, and especially hard.

"Okay, boys, a few things to discuss."

The members of Dethklok responded in a low murmur of apathy. Well, it was certainly off to a swimming start. So he cleared his throat.

"First of all, the new demos have come back from the testing group. They liked everything but tracks 3 and 9. Apparently it wasn't 'metal' enough for them and they'd appreciate it if you tried a little harder to 'kick them in the ass' with your music."

"Dude, I loved track 9! That was, like, the best drummin' I've ever done in my life!" Pickles sat up, scowling. "F(riff)k them!"

"Yes, be that as it may, they _are_ your fans. You don't have to like them, but they're paying for your music, so it would be nice to show a little support for their opinions."

"Their opinions means s(riff)t," Skwisgaar snorted, plucking away at his guitar at his usual lightning pace. "We ares the multi-billionaires."

"Yeah, they'll just end up buying our CDs anyway," Nathan reasoned. "So why should we care about a couple of f(riff)king songs they didn't like? It's our music, and we don't wanna do it again."

"I understand that, but..."

"But nothin', we're not doin' it again!" Murderface snapped, folding his arms with a huff.

"Yeah, we workeds real hards on them!" Toki complained.

"What's all this 'we's' crap?" the Nordic guitarist snorted. "Yous were doings nothings, as usual."

"F(riff)ks you!"

"Guys, please. It wouldn't take too long to record two new songs, and I'm sure the fans would-"

"We said no!" Nathan snapped, slamming his fists on the table. "The fans can f(riff)k themselves if they don't appreciate the hard work we put in those f(riff)king songs! End of discussion!"

Charles stared at him and the determined faces around the table and sighed, shifting to the next paper on the table. "Alright, then. Next order of business is the matter of your most recent business proposal. You wanted to have machines made that will shoot... metal roses into the audience? Am I reading this right?"

"Yeah. Hundreds of them," Nathan affirms, nodding.

"An unholy alliance of metals and arts!" Skwisgaar pumps a fist in the air. "The chicks'll loves it!"

"You do realize that would kill a good portion of your audience, and injure the rest."

"They're our fans, they don't care!" Murderface snaps. "God, you're like the world's biggest killjoy!"

"Boys, I'm sorry, but I'm afraid this is one thing I can't okay. All other fan deaths are unintentional, if just as unavoidable. We're not going to actively try to kill our fanbase."

"Oh, come on, you don't care when they die anyway!" Pickles groaned.

"I care when there could be a potential lawsuit involved. The waivers we have them sign gives up their right for them or anyone else to sue us in case of injury or death, but it could cause a potential landfall if the harm is intentional."

"Killjoy," the bassist repeated, huffing.

"Moving on," Charles announced firmly. "As the last order of business..." he trailed off and cleared his throat, quickly saying, "Mymotherwouldlikeustovisit." He then stood up, shuffling up the papers quickly. "No? You're too busy? I understand, alright, good meeting." He turned to go when he was stopped by Toki.

"Waits, did you just says your moms wants us to visits?" he asked excitedly.

"Whoa whoa, you means the ones whats sends us those little cookies?" Skwisgaar asked.

"Yeah, and sends us presents for Christmas every year," Pickles added, grinning as he sat up straighter. "Dude, that's awesome! We never actually met her, I wanna go!"

"Yeah, I think it'd be awesome! Your mom's totally awesome!" Nathan agreed.

"Better than my mom, that's for damn sure!" the drummer nodded.

Charles sighed, rolling his eyes to the ceiling while they couldn't see it. "Look, I know my mother likes you boys, but I just don't know if she's ready to actually _meet_ you."

"Oh, comes on!" Skwisgaar encouraged. "She'll loves us just as much in persons!"

"Yeah, she knows more about us than our own parents, or in my case grandparents, do!" Murderface agreed.

Their manager turned and stared them all down. His stern glare was met with a set of five enthusiastic grins, which reminded him of children being told they were going to Disneyland. He managed to stare them down for a total of 14 seconds before conceding. "Fine. I'll call her and tell her we're coming down next week. But under one condition." He looked around at them again. "You have to promise to redo those two songs when we get back."

"Anything!"

"Awesome!"

"Yippee!"

"It's a deals!"

"We're going to Ofdensen's mother's house!"

As they all celebrated their victory over their CFO's willpower, Charles turned and left the room. On the way down he'd have to lay ground rules. He'd have to keep a tighter leash, and sterner guidelines. After all, there was a far cry between making an appearance to their fans...

...and one to his mother.

(To be continued...)


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I still don't own Metalocalypse. So don't sue me, k? I do, however, own Richard and Gloria Ofdensen. Please don't steal them. You can, however, ask my permission to use them.**

**Note** - This goes by the assumption that Charles Ofdensen is about 32 years old. I don't know how old _you_ think he is, but it's my best guess since it's never been said, lol.

**Note 2** - ...I like cookies.

**READ & REVIEW ACKNOWLEDGMENTS:**

**dragonzfire178** - Sorry, not too much mayhem in this chapter, lol. But I promise plenty in the next chapter!**  
Ritsuka189** & **Otherwise Known As. . .** - Thanks for reading and reviewing! Remember, reviews fuel my need to write! ;-)

**Chapter 2**

"Alright boys, I want you to listen carefully. My mother is a very nice woman. She isn't like your fans, as you well know."

"We've noticed," Pickles snorted.

"Yeah, our _fans_ don't send cookies," Murderface muttered.

"Why don't they?" Nathan pondered, looking thoughtful. "I mean, we entertain them, give them something to fill the pathetic void they call lives, and what do we get?"

"Lots of moneys?" Toki guessed.

"Besides that!"

"Honors?"

"Sales?"

"Womens?"

"But none of those are cookies!"

"...you know, he's right."

"Yeah, why don'ts we gets the cookies?" Skwisgaar asked.

"Boys!" Ofdensen snapped his fingers to get their attention back. "Focus!" They all looked at him in annoyance, but he at least got their attention. "Now, I'm going to have to ask a few things of you. One, don't swear too much around her. I know that's hard for you, but I'd like you to at least try."

"Aww, man. This is gonna be hard," Murderface huffed.

"Maybe we shoulds gets all the swearings outs now," Skwisgaar suggested. "You knows, so we don'ts haves anymore lefts when we gets theres."

"Oh, good idea," Pickles agreed. "Alright, I'll go first. Uh... f(riff)k, s(riff)t, c(riff)k..."

Charles took a deep breath, squashing back the groan that threatened to interrupt their swear-fest. He pinched the bridge of his nose, thinking how bad an idea this was. He couldn't believe they even talked him into it. They were the least suitable people he knew to meet Gloria Ofdensen. She was a kind, soft-spoken woman, quiet and reserved. These boys were loud, obnoxious, and could cause potential, accidental harm and death. This was going to be a disaster.

**()()()()()**

"Gentlemen, it's been brought to our attention that Dethklok is taking a roadtrip down to Pittsburg. As we well know, this is the birthplace of their manager, Charles Ofdensen, and current place of residence of his mother, Gloria."

"As you are all aware, we previously tried to take control of the Dethklok situation by taking this woman into custody. It ended as well as you may expect."

**(Not long ago)**

_Gloria Ofdensen, a pleasant brunette with short brown hair and wrinkles forming across her still pretty face, is walking to her car from the grocery store. Two men are approaching from behind, one pulling out a handkerchief. The two men are suddenly shot by unknown assailants, likely snipers, without her so much as noticing. She simply continues to her car, gets in, and drives away, none-the-wiser._

**(Present day)**

"That woman is better guarded than Fort Knox, even if she isn't aware of it. The only people we know of with better security is Dethklok themselves."

"I don't see the potential harm in allowing them this trip uninterrupted. From what I understand, Mrs. Ofdensen is a loving woman, and of no threat to our plans."

"And she makes excellent cookies."

Selatcia glanced at his right-hand man, then back at Stampingston. "...indeed she does..."

**()()()()()**

"Alright, we'll be arriving at her house soon. You boys know the rules, right?"

"No swearing and be as polite as possible."

"No referring to anything violent."

"No breaking anything."

"No comings ons to your mothers."

"No usings anythings what coulds potentially harms her."

"Good," Charles nodded, impressed. They actually paid attention to all of that. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all. "Now, just remember all of that and everything will turn out just fine."

"Can wes see more of your homes towns while we're heres?" Toki asked hopefully.

"If we have enough time, I don't see the harm," the manager said thoughtfully. "I could show you where I went to school, where my father worked..."

"Boring!" the bassist interrupted.

"...He _did_ work in a steel mill, surrounded by dangerous equipment, and working with molten metal at all times. In fact, he died there."

They all stared at Ofdensen for a moment before Nathan finally spoke again. "Damn. That's brutal. Like, really _really_ brutal. He seriously died there?"

"Yes. It was a horrible accident."

"That sucks. You're okay with it?" Pickles asked.

"Very," Charles nodded. "My father was a very dedicated man. He lived for his work, and he died for his work. Same as me."

"Dude, your parents are... were... _both_ awesome. That's not fair," the drummer huffed. "My parents both suck."

"Your parents don't suck, Pickles," the CFO tried to reassure him. "They're simply..."

"Arrogant assholes?"

Charles gave up. It was a discussion they'd had before, and he never won anyway. "I suppose if that's how you want to remember them, fine."

"Are wes theres yet?" Skwisgaar interrupted the debate.

Ofdensen didn't really mind, as he was glad to have the subject changed. "Actually, we'll be pulling up on her house soon."

The Dethklok limo soon pulled in front of a little house in the middle of suburban Pittsburg. It wasn't much, just a little two-story house with a white-picket fence and a garden out front. The mailbox in front of the fence read 'OFDENSEN' in gold letters with flourish across it.

"...dude, this is where your mom lives?" Nathan asked in disbelief. "You're a multi-millionaire, why does she live in this dump?"

"Don't you ever sends her moneys or nothings?" Toki asked.

"Yes, actually. Not too much, though. Anything more than a couple hundred every once in a while she sends back. My mother's perfectly content with her quiet lifestyle."

"That's... kinda weird," Nathan said. "No offense, but I thought you're _supposed_ to want to be rich and not have to do anything for yourself. Doesn't she at least have servants?"

"No, she prefers to do what she needs on her own. In fact, she even has a job."

"Really _really_ weird."

"Great, now don't say that in front of her. Come on, she's likely waiting for us. Just remember the rules, and we'll be fine."

They emerged from the limo and made their way up to the house, passing the nice white picket fence, the mailbox with it's seashell patterns and gold lettering, the cute little garden that seemed to flourish fine despite its owner not tending to it at the moment. Not once did they think of how out of place they looked in this nice little neighborhood, of the neighbors who were pointing and staring from their front yards and windows. Charles had already taken the precaution of making sure no one would disturb the band or his mother during this visit.

Ofdensen took a deep breath and knocked on the white door.

"Coming!" came a pleasant voice, followed by the tapping of someone quickly running to the door. After a moment, it opened to the nice features of Gloria Ofdenson. Her brown hair was flecking with gray, and wrinkles were forming at the corners of her mouth and eyes, but she still seemed to retain a dignified charm. "Charlie!" she seemed surprised that he stood before her, as if she hadn't been planning this for weeks. Gloria reached up to her son and hugged him, kissing him on the cheek.

"Hello, mother." The smile he gave wasn't exactly visible from a distance, but it was the most genuine one the band had ever seen on him. He hugged her back, if a bit stiffly, then let go, gesturing behind him at the band members. "Mother, these are the boys. This is..."

"No, no," she raised a hand, smiling. "Allow me." She pointed at each in turn. "Skwisgaar Skwigelf. Toki Wartooth. William Murderface. Pickles. Nathan Explosion." She chuckled at the surprised look on her son and the boys behind him. "As Charlie's mother, it's my job to know about him and his friends. Come, come, don't just stand out there, you'll catch a cold! Come in!"

The boys grinned and packed in, each hugging her and receiving a cheek-kiss like her son in turn. It was odd, she just felt like more of a mother than most of them really had.

Entering the house, the first thing they noticed was the walls. They were sea-green and covered in pictures of sea-scapes, sea creatures, and as they expected, lots and lots of seashells. The shells were everywhere, on the walls, tables, decorating the wall-clock and light switches, covering shelf after shelf. The carpet was the color of sand, and they only now took the moment to notice what she was wearing. The woman was dressed in a light blue dress with little seashell earrings and a pearl necklace. She wasn't even wearing shoes.

"Wow, it's like stepping into the bottom of the ocean. And we'd know, we've been there," Pickles observed.

"Oh, yes, I love the sea. And I'm aware of your journey down there. To tell the truth, one of the reasons I'm so learned in your names is, well..." Gloria walked over to the radio sitting on a driftwood table and pressed play on the CD player.

_"OUR HOME IS DOWN THERE  
AND WE'VE KNOWN THIS FOR YEARS  
WE MUST CONQUER FROM THE SEA..."_

She turned it back off and smiled that same pleasant smile. The first person who seemed to find his voice was his son, who looked almost appalled that his mother, who he worked hard at keeping separated from his gruesome work, would even own such an album.

"Mother!"

How had that even gotten past him, he should have known about it. He glanced outside at the roof of the neighbor's house. A Klokateer sniper waved down at him. He'd have to have a talk with the men he assigned to watch his mother.

"Now, Charlie, don't sound so surprised. After all, what kind of mother would I be if I didn't at least support your industry?" Gloria started towards the kitchen, past the surprised, if awed and smiling, faces of the band. "Besides, it's the only album I own and I do love it. The integration of the sounds of the sea creatures was amazingly well done. Who wants cookies?"

"Oh, oh, me!" Toki, Pickles, and Murderface all immediately jumped forward, trying to shove each other out of the way.

Gloria laughed. "Alright, alright. You three can help me bring them out. There's plenty for everyone." She led the three into the kitchen while Charles said a silent prayer in his head for the safety of his mother now that half of Dethklok was about to be surrounded by various sharp kitchen utensils.

"I just haves to says it," Swisgaar leaned in towards his manager. "Your moms is _hot_."

"What did I tell you?"

"I'm nots hittings on hers, I'm just sayings," he added quickly at the glare he received. He then decided to take an interest in one of the displays as Ofdensen continued to glare at him.

"Dude, your mom _really_ likes seashells," Nathan felt inclined to point out, looking around the room. "Like... _really_."

"I know, she's always been like that," Charles replied, keeping an eye on the Swedish man. The blond juggled a conch for a moment, before catching it and putting it quickly back on the shelf, moving on as if nothing had happened. "The house, however, wasn't like this when I was a child. My father would allow her to decorate, but objected to the overuse of oceanic themes. I suspect she began this after he died, since he could no longer tell her to stop."

"Hey, is this your fathers?" Skwisgaar brought a picture over, handing it to him. It was the only one in which the frame didn't seem to have been attacked by a water nymph. The picture inside depicted a serious looking red-haired man with a bushy beard. He wore a partially unbuttoned flannel shirt, suspenders, and a perpetual scowl.

"That would indeed be him. Don't let this fool you, my father was a good, hardworking man. He did what he had to to provide for his family. To him, the most important thing in life was proving your worth through hard work and perseverance."

"What my son isn't telling you," Gloria emerged from the kitchen with the three band members in tow, each carrying a heaping plate of chocolate chip cookies. Gloria, herself, carried a tray with seven glasses of milk. "Is that Richard was also a loving, wonderful husband and father. He cared very deeply for both of us, even if he simply did not know how to express it."

"I know, mother. I just don't have too many memories of that side of him," Charles said, seeming to lose himself in the thought. He then shook it off, staring at the plates they placed on the table, each member of the band grabbing as big of handfuls as they could. "Dear lord, mother, how many cookies did you make?"

Gloria shrugged as she bit into one, wiping chocolate off the corner of her mouth with a thumb. "You know me, when I get nervous I make cookies. And I haven't seen you in so long, nor met any of your darling boys before. I became so engrossed in making a good impression, I lost track of how many I was making. Before I knew it... well, let's just say you should see the counter."

"Every inch is _covered_ in cookies!" Murderface announced, jamming another cookie into his mouth. The next sentence came out very muffled, but it sounded like, "Icks 'ike 'ea'n in 'ere." Crumbs flew out with every word.

"William, please," Charles covered his face with a hand, mortified his mother had to witness that. "Use a napkin, and don't talk with your mouth full. You're getting crumbs all over my mother's carpet."

"Don't worry, it blends well, no one will notice," Gloria chuckled. She reached over to Nathan with a napkin, though, and started wiping his cheek. "Hold still, Nathan, dear. You have some chocolate here."

Charles coughed and Nathan quickly said, "Uh, thanks... Mrs. Ofdensen, ma'am."

"Now, honey, call me Gloria. I don't want you to feel like you have to be all formal around me," she smiled. "Feel free to treat me like one of your fans."

"No!" Charles said quickly, sitting straighter. "No, that... that's not a good idea. Do _not_ treat her like a fan, okay? Treat her like... er... well, treat her like me. If you actually gave me some respect. And did what I asked. Alright?"

"Yeah, yeah..." the band grumbled. His mother chuckled again.

"So, who wants to see pictures?"

"Pictures?" Toki asked.

"Of course. I wouldn't be Charlie's mother if I didn't embarrass him a bit with some pictures of him as a child."

"Mother, _please_..."

"Now, now, Charlie. You're not afraid to let your own band see you as a kid, are you?"

"Well, I..."

"No!"

"He's totally not!"

"Shows us!"

"Yeah, this'll be sweet!"

"He doesn'ts minds at alls!"

"You seem to have been out-voted," Gloria pointed out, standing and walking over to a shelf to retrieve her photo album.

Ofdensen groaned and stood up, heading for the back hall. "Well, if you're going to start telling stories I'd rather not be around for them to ask embarrassing questions. If you'll excuse me, I have to use the restroom."

Gloria nodded and walked back over, sitting down and placing the book between trays of cookies. She opened it up, turning to the first page. "Well, I suppose we should start from the beginning. This," she pointed at the first photo, "is where Richard and I first met."

The photo depicted an actually smiling Richard with an equally happy Gloria, both much younger and holding each other on a beach. Gloria's feet were bare, like when she greeted them, and she stood on her tip-toes to wrap her arms around his neck. Her toes were dipped in the tide, his sandalled feet sinking into the sand while hers just barely seemed to touch the ground.

"Are you sure that's the same guy?" Murderface asked. "He looks... happy." Nathan elbowed him. "Ow! What?"

Gloria didn't seem to take offense to the comment, though, and simply shook her head. "Those were simpler days. We were very different people back then."

"You don't seems so differents now," Skwisgaar commented. "A little older, buts... OW!" He yelped as Pickles was the one doing the elbowing this time. "Would you guys stops that?"

"No, no. I am very different now. But I am better for it. Having Richard and Charlie around made me a better person."

She turned the page and it showed the couple again, this time Gloria holding a smiling baby boy.

"Awww..." the band all cooed before they could stop themselves.

After a pause Nathan looked really uncomfortable. "Wow... that was... really not metal, guys..."

"Don't worry," Gloria winked at them. "I won't tell anyone about it. But I agree, Charlie was such a darling little baby. Then again, no matter how old he gets he's still my little baby boy."

"Mother!" came a mortified call from down the hall.

They all laughed, looking back at the album.

"I would've never guessed it was Ofdensen by looking at this thing," Murderface said.

"Yes, well, I'm not sure exactly when my son started on his path to success, but his father tried to help him as much as possible. The few times they were home together he spent pushing him as hard as he could towards that goal. What Charlie had said was true, his father put a lot of stock in hard work."

**()14 years ago()**

"You missed his graduation, dear."

Richard Ofdensen paused at the table as he put his lunch pail down, looking down at the high school diploma sitting next to it. He didn't dare touch it with his grimy hands. It was the signs of his first steps to real success.

"How was it?" he asked his wife. She stood at the sink, washing dishes from the dinner he'd missed. Most of the students either went to the after-grad party, or went out for a celebratory dinner. Charles didn't want to do either, the party a frivolous waste of his time, and a simple graduation not being a reasonable enough excuse to waste the money on a restaurant. So he and his mother had simply gone home and fixed something nice and fast, not bothering to wait for his perpetually working father.

"It was wonderful, Charlie was so handsome. He made valedictorian, you know. Gave the graduation speech. It was... very..." she tried to search for a kind word, then sighed. "You know our son. He's very well spoken, but doesn't know how to connect to those not at his level. I think he may have insulted some of the students, but the speech was so fluid and eloquent I don't think anyone could tell."

"Sounds like my boy. Where is he now?"

"In his room, preparing for college. They already sent him his acceptance letter to Cornell. He's reading everything he can about it before leaving. Maps, teachers, courses, even about ones he's not even taking."

"...that's my boy."

**()Present Day()**

"Richard wouldn't tell anyone, especially not Charlie, but he was proud of him. Proud that he got into Cornell, of his progress. Charlie is a good man because he was raised by a good father."

"Hey, what's this picture right here?" Pickles asked. He was pointing to a picture of Charles as a child, sitting on a stool with a black eye, split lip, and several bruises. His mother was tending to it all with a worried expression, the boy looking at the camera while biting his swollen lip, trying not to show how much it hurt.

Gloria's face fell a bit. "That's Charlie in third grade. He came home after a bunch of boys at school beat him up, looking like that. Richard took the picture because he said it was a milestone in his journey to being a man. He said the first step to manhood is your first ass-kicking. Pardon my language."

"That's pretty hardcore. Why'd they kick his a- er... butt like that?" Nathan caught himself quickly before he could break the 'no swearing' rule.

"You know children. They were just bullies, and Charlie was so smart they thought he was an easy target. He came home like that a few times afterwords. It all stopped in fifth grade, though. I hadn't seen him like that in a long time, and believe me I was relieved for it. So I asked him about the bully situation. He simply said it had been resolved. I trust he likely talked to the principal about it." She stood and gathered one of the empty plates and some of the glasses. "One moment, I'll go get some more milk and cookies."

As soon as Gloria was gone, Charles emerged from the hall again. He had been standing and listening from outside of the door.

"Okay, you've gotta tell us," Pickles said. "Did you really snitch on those kids to the principal?"

Charles sat down next to Nathan on the couch, shaking his head. "Don't tell my mother this, but no. After a couple of times of getting hurt like that, my father reiterated one of his most important lessons to me: Not letting people walk all over you." He leaned back and thought about it, as if it were a fond memory. "So I started studying books on self-defense. We couldn't afford lessons, but I'm a quick study when it comes to the written word. Two years later, I confronted them when they were about to 'persuade' me to give them my lunch money. A talk with the principal _was_ involved, but..."

**()21 years ago()**

11-year-old Charles Ofdensen sat in the principal's office, Kleenex stuffed in one nostril to stem the bleeding and a bruise on his left cheek. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose before returning to scowling at the floor with his arms crossed. His mother was out of town that day, and his father had to be called in from work for this talk, something which he wasn't too happy about.

The principal leaned forward, clearing his throat. "Thank you for coming in, Mr. Ofdensen."

"Yeah," the large man grunted, looking down at his son, who didn't even react.

"I'm sorry to inform you that your son was involved in a fight today."

"He's been gettin' beat up for two years, and you just noticed it now?"

The principal cringed at the tone, leaning back again. Richard Ofdensen was a very empowered man, especially when it came to his voice. It was easy to be intimidated by him. He then cleared his throat again. "This isn't about them having beaten him up, actually. In fact, your son only sustained minor injuries from this... scuffle. One of the three boys has a broken arm and jaw. Another a broken ankle. The last doesn't have any injury, but refuses to come near the school. All three's parents are seeking lawsuits."

"They can seek all they want, my son was acting in self defense. If you and your staff was more observant, maybe they would have noticed the multiple times Charles has come to school covered in injury," Richard snapped, slamming a fist on the desk.

"It's okay," Charles suddenly spoke, looking up at both of them. "They won't be doing it again. They'll never beat _anyone_ up again. They know how it feels now. I won't do it again, either."

The principal stared at him a moment, hesitating in answering. There was something about the look in the kid's eyes that scared him at that moment. It was so intense, so serious. No child should have looked like that. "Well, I suppose I can talk to them... explain the situation..." he once again cleared his throat. "I'll try to convince them not to seek legal repercussions. You... you're suspended for a week. I suggest having a friend send you your homework."

As the father and son left the principal's office, Richard placed a hand on Charles's head. "Never, ever make me have to come back here, you got that? If you do, I'll ground you for a month."

"Yes, father."

"Good. Oh, and son?"

"Yes, father?"

"...good work. But you could do better."

**()Present day()**

"...whoa. You beat up three kids?"

"Shush!" Charles hissed, glancing at the kitchen. There was no indication she'd heard. "I only beat up two of them. The last one ran when he saw me breaking one of the other boys' jaw. And I did it to teach them a lesson. And it was just that one time."

"Brutal."

"Thank you."


End file.
